Caribbean Stew

Something my dad and I did have in common was food.  We both loved food.  (My dad passed away in 2001).  Although I sure wish I'd inherited his lack of desire for sweets.  Dearly.  Me and sugar?  yeah, we're tight.  Real tight.

I don't have the slightest idea how our love of all things food happened.  I don't remember being shown food in an interesting way.  Told of its wonders.  Admired all the variety and flavors.  I don't think it was an intentional parenting move in the slightest.  We were always made to eat everything on our plates, whether we wanted it or not.  And oddly enough, the one food I remember from my childhood was baked bone-in chicken.  Plain chicken in a once-was-clear-now-grease-caked-brown glass casserole dish.  Even now thinking about it, I shudder.   If we go to eat at someone's house and I see that's on the menu for dinner, I have to psych myself up to consume it.  Yeah, it's that bad.

At some point after I was older, though, Dad became interested in cooking.  Not just 'getting by with making something' cooking.  Chef worthy cooking.  Culinary Arts.  There was the asian food phase.  The mexican phase.  The ginger phase (And oh, how I regret this one!  We were SOOOO burned out on uber ginger that I avoided this spice for nearly 10 years, foolishly!).  The stuffed bell pepper phase (my sister's 'favorite').  The fried chicken where he always covered the pan with foil and made soggy crusted chicken and could never figure out what he was doing wrong phase.  I'm sure I've forgotten several.  We all laugh of them now.  Fond family memories.

Somewhere in high school, the Food Network came to our area.  It was around 1995 to 1996.  This became our family activity.  How many nights we watched together "Cooking Live" with Sarah Moulton!  We watched Bobby Flay when he had a show with an audience and an annoyingly perky and equally annoyingly ignorant sidekick.  We watched Mario Batalli.  Man, Dad loved Mario.  He was incredibly interested in the authentic Italian cooking.  Mario's arrogance always got on my nerves.  But of course, the highlight was Emeril Live!  BAM! people BAM!

I have no other explanation than the Food Network to explain where I gained my love of good food.  I really hadn't considered it something of family bonding until now.  But I suppose that both Dad and me were soaking up every tiny morsel of knowledge we heard then.  We never went to fine dining restaurants.  We never had these things served anywhere.  But attempting things ourselves?  Heck yeah! Dad made his own sausage.  (Dana LOVED helping with that!).  Dad wasn't afraid to have a culinary fail.  If it was awful, he just got right back up on his horse and tried again. And again.  And again.  (hence, the disastrous fried chicken phase of '96).

I can be awfully afraid to try to do something new, from fear of failure.  But somehow, this does not apply to me in the kitchen.  I'm not afraid of trying anything.  I love to work in the kitchen.  I love to prove myself there.  I suppose I can thank Dad for that - because he showed me that it really didn't matter if I made a goof.  It was gonna be just fine.

I was exposed to so many different ingredients, spices, and techniques by watching the Food Network before I was a grown up.  I am so very thankful.

I love food.  I love the beauty in all the different colors, flavors, textures.  God has given us beauty in the form of what we eat.  That is just so beautiful!

I also love to cook.  I had dreams that my kids would be born loving asparagus, goat cheese, parsnips, panko bread crumbs, pickled ginger, among other things.  Well.... both of them had other plans.  I had dreams that they'd watch the Food Network with me... interested in helping me create these tasty culinary treats.  Not so much.... Alas... there's still time, right?

God created us to derive delight in beauty.  He created us with eyes to see and taste-buds to taste.  We truly do eat with our eyes.  (I had to close my eyes recently to force green eggs down my throat.  I confess, they tasted like ordinary scrambled eggs.  But man, I could not force that nastiness in my mouth!).

So I wanted to share photos of some our our favorite recipes... "our" being Shawn and me.  The kids not so much.  I am excited about the upcoming spring and summer seasons, and the food with which they bring!

Here is a favorite of mine.  I love unusual pairings of ingredients.  Sometimes I wonder if I was born on the wrong continent, food wise.

Caribbean One Pot Stew with pineapple salsa - recipe found here.

Young Life: new frontiers

I spent most weekends as a child at my grandparents place, out "in the country".  I remember plenty of times when the guns were all brought out and the boys shot at various targets.  I am sure I was given the opportunity to try.  And I am sure I was not very good at it.  Otherwise I would have pursued it, I imagine.  But like all other things with an athletic/skill nature, I wasn't talented that way and amused myself in other ways.

I remember that we kept a BB-gun (this must be the first time I've written that down - I had no idea how to spell BB-gun!) next to our sliding glass door in our house, to shoot various wildlife that broke the rules, like squirrels trying to eat the birdseed.  I hated that.  Jim would take care of the issues after school before Dad got home.  This was normal.

Guns weren't a dominant part of my childhood, but they weren't unfamiliar either.  I am not a fan of having guns in my home now.  I see absolutely no point in it, because the probability of you getting to the gun with all the safety precautions necessary and getting it to a point of being able to use it because of those safety precautions and then having the time to be able to use it for self defense... is just low.  I only see the potential bad things that could come of it.  I am not some anti-gun activist.  I think guns are something that most men find compelling and I understand that.  I don't want to take that away.  I just don't see their purpose in the home as a self defense mechanism.   Thud, thud.  That was me stepping down off my soap box.

The point of all that to say is that I am familiar with guns.  I'm not scared of them to the point of being unsure just being around them.  I don't really desire to shoot them, but I'm okay to be around someone who chooses to do so responsibly.

We are heavily involved in our local Kingsport Young Life chapter.  We are passionate about the mission of Young Life to reach those kids that the mainstream church can leave behind.  The kids that "nice kids" may not want to befriend.  The ones who didn't grow up in perfectly pretty families with perfectly pretty morals.  But who still desperately need to hear how Jesus loves them and wants them.

But Young Life is a ministry that raises its own support, and our local chapter chronically struggles with having enough funds to do what God is calling them to do.  Despite wonderful success with the students in the schools, financial issues plague our local area.  So the Committee decided to add an additional fundraiser to the yearly schedule.  Something that would attract a crowd that the annual Golf Tournament didn't appeal to... something that would appeal to those who wouldn't consider an evening at a fundraising banquet a rip roarin' good time.  Enter the First Annual Sporting Clay Fundraiser.  I think it was an excellent idea!

The inaugural event was this past Saturday morning at the local Cherokee Rod and Gun Club.  Everyone seemed to have a fantastic time.  The weather was perfect.  And my wonderful friend D watched my kids so I could spend a little while there documenting it for Young Life!  Without further ado, here is what you missed.

(Please consider a donation to Kingsport Young Life. All info can be found here:  http://younglifekingsport.blogspot.com/)

















And I couldn't help but take a shot of all the loyal support in the parking lot!

what he's known by

The question "what exactly does romance you?" has been on my mind for quite a while.  It's been something he didn't know.  And neither did I.  He's asked me to genuinely consider it.  To help him understand.  To help him know what to do, so he can stop shooting in the dark.  I've tried.  Over time, I've begun to crack the foundation of the answer.  But I still don't fully understand it.

A recent fiction series that has taken my heart wholly has helped me crack that code, to a degree.  I've built tremendous defensive walls.  Yet, on top of that I have I realized just how much words play into it for me.  Words I need to hear.  Words that show he is captivated by me... he chooses me.... and only me.  Today.  And again tomorrow.  and the next day.  

If I hadn't read Wild At Heart and Captivating, I'd probably be beating myself up more for the yearnings I have.  I'd be tempted to feel weak.  silly.  too much.  not enough.  too girl.  I know these feelings aren't inherently wrong.  I'm thankful that I know that now.  They are longings that were created into me.

But since I've begun to identify what would make me feel romanced... the true yearnings of my married soul... as I've tried to put words and explanations to it, I've found myself running through mental lists of the things he doesn't do.... the things he isn't.

In fact, I'd say I've dwelled on these things some.  Become frustrated at all the things he doesn't and isn't.  Holes within me that he isn't filling.

I have always loved listening to Gary Thomas speak.  Something about his voice and the passion behind his words just totally enrapture me.  He is the author of Sacred Pathways and Sacred Marriage.  I went to link a podcast he was featured on to a friend, when it came up in conversation the other day.  I left the podcast on to play while I cleaned up the kitchen.  I just love listening to him so much.  Just an ordinary day.

I wasn't anticipating this to hit me.  I've heard him speak on marriage so much.  I didn't think I was going to hear something new.  But holy moly guacamole.

"There's a question I can ask an engaged woman and it will take her 15 minutes to answer.  ... You go to an engaged woman and you say "tell me about your husband to be." And she's off and running.  It's her favorite topic.  "Oh, he's this and this.. and I so appreciate this about.. and you've gotta hear about the time he did..  oh and he's so thoughtful..." By the time she's done, I love the guy and I've never met him, right?  I'm thinking "maybe I can still steal him for one of my daughters.  He looks like a good candidate."  

And then I'll go into the conference.  I'll talk to somebody, a woman who's been married for 7 months, 7 years, 17 years... I'll say, "tell me about your husband."  And I'll hear "well, he's not this... he's never done that.  couldn't spell spiritual leader, much less be one.  I really hope you're gonna talk about this and that." 

I remember going back to my hotel room one night.  Throwing myself before the Lord and saying "God, when does a man stop being known by what he is and becomes known by what he isn't, in a woman's eyes?  What is that bridge when a man stops being known by all that he is and becomes known and defined primarily by what he's not.  And the sad answer to that is usually marriage. 

Because of all of the hopes and the expectations and the idealized notions that we pour into what we think marriage should be through our eyes.. when we wake up to the reality that we've married somebody who stumbles in many ways, we can collapse in our disappointment. [James 3:2 - we all stumble in many ways] " 

(hear him speak on all of this at this link)

I was struck.  Struck hard.  Just hours earlier I had allowed myself to soak in something he hadn't said.  Something he didn't do.

How utterly unfair of me!

When did I morph from all that he is?  The man of character I married.  The man who still comes home every day after work.  Even to this place that isn't so hunky dory at dinnertime with two young-cranky-rambunctious-wear-mommy-out-kids.  The man who sacrifices so very much, for them, for ME.

When did I forget all of his strengths?  All of the things I'm so proud of.  How hard he works for us.  How much he cares for us.  How good of a daddy he is.  How he loves to spend time with us.  That we, his family, are the most important things in his life?

I've allowed myself to be caught in the trap of the world's marriage mindset.  Time has eroded, slowly yet surely, at my conscious awareness of my husband to morph into a place where I can quickly list all the things I wish were different.

But I cannot quickly tell you all the things that are.  Firmly, solidly are.

I am ashamed.  And I am thankful.  Thankful for how God weaves his puzzle pieces.  I love it when I see Him do this.

If that friend hadn't invited me to lunch.  

If whatever topic hadn't come up in conversation, to remind me of Gary Thomas.  

If I hadn't thought of it later, to post on her facebook.  

If I had decided to listen to something else that afternoon.  

If I'd had a kid here, yelling and screaming and opening six cereal bar boxes and spreading them around the playroom... 

I wouldn't have heard him say that.  I wouldn't have been so struck by how I've allowed my mind to wander.

The original question, What romances me?, isn't a bad one, in and of itself.  It's what I've allowed myself to do with it that causes the harm.  It's how I've allowed myself to be disappointed when I realized he missed an opportunity to tell me something I wanted to hear.  First, I have to share this newfound discovery with him, before I expect him to rise to that expectation.  Second, I have to give him grace to change... over time.  And third, Grace to not get it right every time, even when he does know.

Because God knows, I sure don't get it right, most of the time.  I, too, am someone who stumbles in many ways.